Sudden Journey
by roseinbloom
Summary: Ëarendia, a girl from our time, suddenly finds herself in Middle Earth, trying to find her way back. Who will she meet? What will she do? Read and find out! Please R&R! Rated R for later chapters!
1. A Trip Back in Time

A/N: I don't own any of Tolkien's characters, storylines, or ideas. The only stuff in here that's mine is what you won't recognize from any of his work. If you've read Tolkien, you'll know which is which. If you haven't, you should. Also, I'm not profiting from this in any way, except that I'm having a lot of fun with it.  
  
***  
  
Chapter One: A Trip Back in Time  
  
"Come on, Ëarendia, you're going to make us miss the Progress," Jamie yelled, frowning and yanking on her friend's hand.  
  
"Ow! Damn it, Jamie, what's wrong with you?" Ëarendia asked, bumping her head on the car door. "Five minutes isn't going to make us miss anything. We've already got our tickets," she said grumpily, rubbing her forehead. "And it's not like I can walk into the Renaissance Fair with my hair all over the place."  
  
"Yeah, or her tits falling out of her dress," Ian supplied helpfully. Ëarendia glared in her twin brother's direction, then readjusted the neckline of her dress to correct the problem. How he'd known, she had no idea. Probably the same way that she knew, without having to ask him, that he was within five minutes of tearing off his cheap fake beard and tossing into the nearest clump of bushes. They just knew things about each other. Their older brother called it 'that twin thing.' Ëarendia supposed it was a good enough description, though it really didn't describe much of anything.  
  
Two minutes later, her costume adjusted, her silky long blond hair perfectly in place, Ëarendia was hurrying across the grassy field doing double duty as a parking lot. Jamie was on one side of her, Ian on the other, and as they rushed through the ankle-high grass, she and Jamie held the long skirts of their velvet dresses up so that they wouldn't trip. Women during the Renaissance, Ëarendia thought with amusement and disgust, put up with an awful lot of shit just to walk around. She'd rather have been wearing jeans, really, Renaissance Fair or no Renaissance Fair.  
  
They bypassed the ticket booth and headed for the entrance to the Fair. Stopping to wait in the short line underneath the large wooden arch, they looked around. There were people dressed in t-shirts and jeans standing beside people in full Renaissance costume. There were men in doublets and hose, most of whom shouldn't have been allowed outside dressed like that, in Ëarendia's opinion. She met Jamie's eyes and they burst into giggles, carefully avoiding looking at the older man in green hose and a scarlet doublet, with green slops, who looked alarmingly like an overstuffed sausage in hot pants. Even Ian's lips twitched as he watched the older man walk through the arch with some difficulty. His costume appeared to be as painful to wear as it was to look at. Ëarendia far preferred the kilts many of the men wore in deference to the Fair's theme today: Scottish Weekend.  
  
There were women in low-cut peasant wench costumes, their corsets pushing out their chests alarmingly. Ian often had to be pulled along, staring into space after a particularly well-endowed woman walked by. Ëarendia couldn't entirely avoid a twinge or two of jealousy. Her own chest wasn't a quarter as big. She had a feeling that trying to enhance it with a corset would have done nothing but flatten it down even more. She sighed, and followed Jamie and Ian down the main alley of shops and booths, past sword makers and clothing stores and vendors selling ridiculous Robin Hood hats and devil ears.  
  
Once they were through the worst of the crowd, Jamie slowed down and began searching out a spot for them to watch the Progress. Ëarendia followed, more engaged in watching everything around her than in watching where she was going, and bumped into someone in the crowd.  
  
"Milady! Are you all right? And what has happened to your ear?" came a male voice in what might have been the worst fake English accent Ëarendia had ever heard. She sighed. There was just no getting away from what Jamie called "Renaissance Nerds." Ëarendia didn't really mind the 'milady'- ing and the atrocious accents, but the absolute refusal of some of them to acknowledge that they were only playing a part drove her to distraction. Two years ago, she'd had twenty young men ask about the clock strapped to her wrist, and the year before, the year she'd been stupid enough to smile a lot, her braces had driven them to new heights of idiocy. Apparently, this was the year to comment on the tiny silver hoop earrings that ran along the curve of her left ear. Thank God, she thought, he can't see the navel ring. Or the tattoos. The earrings, apparently, were going to make the Renaissance Nerds be annoying enough.  
  
She suddenly felt a great kinship with Van Gogh.  
  
She smiled at the Renaissance Nerd, who was about six feet tall and might have weighed fifty-five pounds soaking wet, with flaming red hair, wearing a pirate's costume. "It was mangled in a horrible accident at the blacksmith's," she said simply, and hurried to catch up with Jamie and Ian before he recovered.  
  
"Oh, wow, Jamie, look at that dress," Ëarendia said, gaping at a woman passing by. Jamie looked, and stared enviously. Dressed in a blue velvet overskirt and bodice with a heavily embroidered silk underskirt and chemise, the woman looked as though she'd stepped out of a painting. Her dress was full, held out by layers of petticoats and a farthingale, and her hair was elaborately dressed.  
  
"Would it be too much to ask my Mom to spring for one of those outfits?" Jamie asked wistfully, knowing the answer already. Her mother had threatened to ground her from the Renaissance Fair for life if she asked for one single piece of clothing to add to her already-considerable collection.  
  
"You know damned well it would be," Ëarendia said, laughing. "Ones that nice cost hundreds of dollars. She'd lock you in your room for life. She didn't even let you bring your credit card in case of an emergency this year."  
  
Jamie sighed. "I know, but still." She took one last look at the woman, who was disappearing around the curve of the street, and sighed again. "Oh, well, at least you helped me fix up last year's dress. It barely even looks like itself." She laughed breezily and decided on a spot for the three of them to watch the Royal Progress, a sort of walking parade where actors playing the King, Queen, and members of the Royal Court walked through the main street and over to the arena to officially open the Fair.  
  
And at least, Ëarendia thought with a quiet sigh, Jamie's maroon velvet dress matched the time period they were supposed to be dressed up for. Ëarendia's own dress, a long, gray, straight velvet, was more medieval in style, and in her own opinion the only good things that could be said for it were that it was clean and that it matched her eyes. Just as it had the year before, and the year before that. She pushed her hair over her shoulders and watched as the crowd milled around.  
  
Across the way, a young man who looked about 18, her age, climbed up on a picnic table made out of a tree stump for a better view. He was tall and built like a quarterback, Ëarendia thought, and he had longish blond hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail. Ëarendia looked at Jamie. Jamie looked at Ëarendia.  
  
"Mine," Ëarendia said quickly, and Jamie groaned, feigning devastation. Ian, her boyfriend, gave her a warning glare even as the corners of his mouth twitched up.  
  
"He's wearing a kilt," Jamie hissed, staring at the blond man while pretending to inspect her fingernails. Since she was holding her hand up in front of her face, it wasn't a particularly good act, but it seemed to be working.  
  
Ëarendia looked over, and started to giggle. "It's getting a bit breezy," she said, and laughed harder when the breeze began to ruffle the edges of the kilt.  
  
"Maybe we'll have a hurricane," Jamie said, clearly enthusiastic about the idea until Ian gave her a glare that was a little closer to being sincere. She immediately sobered up, but her eyes were sparkling at Ëarendia. "Could we be that lucky?" she asked in a whisper, wiggling her eyebrows outrageously.  
  
"Not likely," Ëarendia muttered, then burst into fresh laughter when the breeze kicked up. If it hadn't been for the sporran the blond man wore, he might as well have hiked his kilt up himself. He didn't seem to notice. He was busy staring at Ëarendia and Jamie with deep chocolate brown eyes and a sort of half-smile on his face.  
  
"He's looking at you," Jamie hissed, and Ëarendia wanted to kick her friend. So much for subtlety. The blond man across the way was grinning at them as if he could hear every word Jamie was saying. Ëarendia turned bright red and looked down at the ground. Jamie wanted to elbow her best friend and make her look up, but reconsidered when she saw those chocolate- brown eyes watching Ëarendia even more intently than before. Jamie considered, and decided that the picture of Ëarendia, tall and slim in her gray velvet dress, her long blond hair blowing around her in the breeze, would do just fine.  
  
For now.  
  
The Progress began, and Ëarendia forgot all about the man across the way while men and women dressed in velvets and silks—including the woman in the blue velvet dress they'd seen before—began to file past. Some of the men rode horses. Some of the women rode them as well. But most simply walked, impressive as true nobles and royalty from centuries ago. Ëarendia forgot that she, Jamie, and Ian had driven to the Fair in Jamie's new car. She forgot that cars even existed, caught up in the excitement. Lost in thought, she didn't even realize that Jamie and Ian had moved to the side to get a better view of the King and Queen. She certainly didn't realize that the blond man from across the way had walked across the makeshift street and was standing beside her, not until he spoke.  
  
"Impressive, aren't they?" he asked.  
  
She started, completely shocked, and whirled. Then she had to brush her rebellious hair away from her face, as the wind was blowing it all around her like a golden veil. Then, realizing that she was staring at him, she tried to pull herself together and simply nodded. "I love their costumes. They're so authentic."  
  
He grinned. "My sister works with the Fair, and she helps make the costumes every year. She's the one in green over there, doing her best not to get trampled by the idiot on the horse."  
  
Ëarendia laughed as she admired the tall red-headed woman's costume. "She's lovely. And her costume is incredible!"  
  
He laughed. "I'll tell her you said so. I'm Logan. Logan Mackenzie."  
  
"Ëarendia O'Brien," she said, and they shook hands a bit awkwardly.  
  
"Unusual name," he observed, and grinned when she turned pink.  
  
"Don't remind me. My Mom and Dad are huge Tolkien fans. They just didn't quite get the name right, that's all." She shrugged, embarrassed. "I mean, Ëarendil was a guy."  
  
"Yeah, but at least they tried. It could be worse. They could have named you Bombadilla or something."  
  
Ëarendia laughed. "Right. I never thought of it that way. It just seemed kind of presumptuous, you know? Naming your kid after the Elves' sacred star, and getting it wrong into the bargain."  
  
He shrugged. "Not exactly your fault, was it?" His brown eyes sparkled with amusement, and somehow, she thought, that made it all right.  
  
She smiled, and thought that she'd never met a more handsome man in her life than Logan Mackenzie. And he seemed to like her. That was the best part.  
  
Ëarendia turned her head a bit, so that she could see the men dressed up as soldiers following the King and Queen down the street. One of them was having a hard time controlling his horse, which seemed utterly terrified by the crowd. It might have been easier for him, she thought, if it hadn't been for the shield he carried in one hand. He didn't seem to have gotten the hang of holding the reins in one hand and the shield in the other. It probably wouldn't have mattered, not with the horse doing its best to escape what little control he had over it.  
  
"Oh, shit—watch out," Logan muttered, and took Ëarendia's arm to pull her back from the edge of the crowd.  
  
A small boy dressed as a pirate, brandishing a wooden sword, ran out from the crowd on the other side of the street, right in front of the horse. Its rider pulled back hard on the reins. The horse whinnied angrily and reared. The shield went flying toward Ëarendia and Logan.  
  
The last thing Ëarendia saw before a sharp pain in her head brought grayness descending around her was Logan's face, sharp with worry. As if through a tunnel, she heard the horse's hooves coming near them and Jamie's shrill scream. Then the sound cut off, gray faded to black, and she knew no more.  
  
***  
  
"Well, I say we ought to wake her up," said a loud, rumbling voice nearby.  
  
"Not until we know more," countered a second voice, calm and considering. "Sauron is defeated, but not all the evil he commanded has passed away."  
  
Ëarendia tried to open her eyes and found that she could not. She tried to move her arms and legs, and found them too heavy. So she listened hard, trying to figure out what was going on.  
  
"She's just a girl," said the first voice, sounding both amused and scornful.  
  
"She's dressed strangely. There is metal in her ear. She has some kind of paint on her face, and her shoes are of a kind I have never seen before. What's more, she is in Fangorn Forest. A dangerous place for a lone female."  
  
"She's got pointed ears. Maybe she's an Elf. Maybe she lives here," replied the first voice.  
  
The second voice sounded thoughtful. "If she's an Elf, she's far from home. There are no Elves in Fangorn. The last Elves left these woods more than an Age ago."  
  
"She seems harmless." The first voice sounded less certain now. "At least, she's pretty, and she's unarmed. What would she do, talk us to death?"  
  
The second voice now sounded amused. "If you haven't accomplished that yet, old friend, I think it must not be possible."  
  
"Well, if Elves weren't so silent all of the time," grumbled the first voice, but in a tone that spoke of bantering friendship.  
  
"And if Dwarves did not feel the need to fill every silence with noise," countered the second voice, then fell silent. When it spoke again, its tone was guarded. "She's waking up."  
  
As if only just realizing it herself, Ëarendia found that she could move her arms a bit, and that she could blink her eyelids. She did, and after a few more moments managed to open her eyes.  
  
She closed them again immediately. She had no idea where she was, but it certainly was not the Renaissance Fair. The trees there had been young, and sunlight had filtered down through their branches to brighten the temporary shops that lined the street. Here, the trees were old and dark, the light a strange murky green that seemed to ripple around her as her head throbbed.  
  
It was probably just because her head hurt so much, she thought, and opened her eyes again. Nothing had changed. This time, she noticed the source of the voices. A man, tall and slender, with long blond hair and dark eyes that seemed to see through her, a bow in one hand and an arrow ready in the other, stood beside a much shorter man, with long auburn hair and a beard that was nearly down to his belt, holding an axe.  
  
They stared down at her. She stared up at them, completely confused.  
  
"Wh—where am I?" she asked, their expressions giving her the feeling that there was something horribly wrong here. Where were they, and where had the Fair gone? And why were they pointing very realistic-looking weapons at her?  
  
"A better question, perhaps, would be who are you?" the blond man replied, his dark eyes intent on her.  
  
"My name is Ëarendia," she said, and watched as his eyes went from intense to skeptical. "I know, I know, it's not exactly a normal name. But I didn't have anything to do with that, did I? Blame my parents. Now where are we?" she asked, looking around slowly as it hurt her head terribly to move too quickly.  
  
"Fangorn Forest," said the shorter man, seeming impatient with his companion. On closer inspection, she thought that he resembled nothing so much as a... she paled. He looked like a Dwarf. Like the Dwarves in her father's illustrated Tolkien books. Exactly like them, if she was going to be honest with herself. "I am Gimli, son of Gloin. This is Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood Forest." He watched her go pale, and saw recognition in her eyes. "Have you heard of us?" he asked, with a distinct lack of surprise and a definite amount of pride.  
  
"I've heard of you," she agreed, her head beginning to throb horribly. "Yes, I've definitely heard of you." She saw Legolas' eyes narrow on her just before everything went dark again and she slid gratefully into the blackness. 


	2. The Mystery Deepens

A/N: I don't own any of Tolkien's characters, storylines, or ideas. The only stuff in here that's mine is what you won't recognize from any of his work. If you've read Tolkien, you'll know which is which. If you haven't, you should. Also, I'm not profiting from this in any way, except that I'm having a lot of fun with it.  
  
***  
  
Chapter Two: The Mystery Deepens  
  
Ëarendia opened her eyes to find the tall blond man and the much shorter, bushy-haired and bearded man staring at her. Legolas and Gimli, she thought, dazedly. The tall blond man—the Elf—is Legolas, and the...the Dwarf...is Gimli. She wanted to close her eyes again, sure that she was dreaming, but there was no denying the reality of the moss beneath her cheek and the rock near her ear.  
  
She cast Legolas a dirty look, sure that if he was really an Elf, he could have caught her before her head hit the rock. He looked back impassively, obviously weighing her and finding her wanting. She couldn't remember ever being sorry to be in the company of a beautiful man before. Of course, she couldn't remember ever being in a situation like this before. She supposed that it was going to be a day of firsts.  
  
"Are you still light-headed?" Gimli asked, with enough honest concern that Ëarendia immediately felt better, though her head didn't hurt any less. Still, she caught the smirk that Legolas couldn't quite control, and knew that he'd caught his friend's unintentional pun. She scowled at him and sat up.  
  
"I no longer feel dizzy," she said, with stiff dignity, and stood up a bit shakily. "Thank you," she added, and Gimli smiled at her. "I'll just be on my way, then," she said with a sigh.  
  
"You can't wander these woods alone," Gimli protested, sounding appalled. "It's not safe for a young lady alone. And you're hurt."  
  
"Truly, I feel fine now," she lied, and concentrated on standing without swaying. Gimli's expression told her clearly that he didn't believe a word of it. Legolas simply watched her for a moment, as though trying to predict whether her stubbornness would outlast the unsteadiness in her legs. When she didn't fall, he seemed to sigh—if an Elf could be said to sigh—and spoke for the first time since she had awoken on the forest floor.  
  
"You can't wander these woods at all," he said calmly, but with finality. "We do not know who you are, or where you came from, or who your people are. You do not appear to be ready to part with that information. Nor, strange as it seems for an Elf, do you appear to be able to fend for yourself." This time he truly did sigh, and loudly. "Which can mean only one thing." Legolas and Gimli shared a meaningful look, then both shrugged. "We have to take you to Gondor. And we have to do it now, before Gandalf and the others take leave of Minas Tirith."  
  
"Gandalf? Gandalf the Grey?" Ëarendia asked without thinking.  
  
Legolas' dark eyes narrowed on her. "Some call him by that name," he said slowly. Ëarendia had no idea what had suddenly made his eyes go cold and suspicious, but she didn't like the shivery feeling his stare was giving her. She desperately wished that he would look somewhere, anywhere else.  
  
Gimli's eyes had lost what warmth they had held. "We'd better go now," he told Legolas. Ëarendia might as well have disappeared through a hole in the floor, for all the notice he gave her.  
  
They seemed to be having some silent conversation between them, Ëarendia noticed, but could not tell what it was about. They seemed to be trying to avoid her, as though she might have some contagious disease, or might be about to jump on them. Or attack them. She was definitely ruining some sort of vacation, she realized, and tried hard to remember what she'd read in her father's books.  
  
Legolas and Gimli had been friends, she remembered as she watched them having their silent conversation. They had been very good friends. And after the War of the Ring they had... She sighed in frustration, wishing she had read the books more recently. She looked around, and it came to her. They had gone to Fangorn, and then they had gone to the Glittering Caves, or something like that. In any event, she thought, they had certainly not planned on having a girl along, or detouring back to Minas Tirith.  
  
"I'll just go alone," she said, breaking the silence. "If you can just get me to the edge of the Forest, and point me in the right direction, I'll get myself to Gondor."  
  
This, if anything, seemed to alarm them more. She heard Gimli mutter something that sounded like 'inflict her on Éomer', and Legolas made a sound that bore a suspicious resemblance to a snort. She waited for a few moments, and, when they made no attempt to suggest any other idea, she simply started walking away. It was, she thought, too bad that she was still in her Renaissance Fair dress; her boots and jeans would have been a lot more useful in the moss and undergrowth obscuring the path.  
  
Legolas and Gimli were still having their silent conversation, and hadn't yet realized that she was gone.  
  
"I'm telling you, that's got to be the explanation," Gimli said. "She dropped out of nowhere. We were sitting there, having lunch, and she simply appeared there. There's no other possible reason."  
  
"We should take care of this ourselves," Legolas said. "She will only drive everyone in Minas Tirith to distraction. All that long blond hair and those silvery eyes. You know how they are. You know why we left."  
  
Gimli considered this soberly and sighed. "You are right, of course, my friend. But keeping her here would do no more good. It would end in our own madness, and the others would have no warning of what was to come."  
  
After a long, long moment, Legolas nodded. "There is no point to self- sacrifice if through it our friends must perish," he agreed. They both turned to look at the stranger, and found that she was gone.  
  
Legolas sighed again. "She is the strangest Elf, and the strangest one of her kind I have ever encountered," he observed after a moment. "Her woodcraft is so poor that she walks deeper into the Forest rather than toward its edge, she leaves a trail clear enough for a blind man to follow, and she walks away from us and leaves on her own. Walks away from us," he repeated, sounding mildly offended.  
  
"It's hardly to be borne," Gimli grumbled, sounding very definitely offended. Sharing an eloquent, long-suffering look, he and Legolas set out after the strange Elf who called herself Ëarendia.  
  
***  
  
They found her sitting on the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree, looking predictably pretty, shafts of murky green light managing to make her hair glow as, bent over, she readjusted the strap on her sandal. She looked somewhat the worse for wear, as though she had taken a few falls in the process of very nearly getting herself lost in the Forest. Legolas looked at Gimli. Gimli looked at Legolas. They both sighed.  
  
She did not hear their approach, and was so shocked that she very nearly fell backward over the tree trunk. This act, so completely and totally graceless, shocked Legolas and Gimli far more than their appearance had shocked her, and they exchanged a startled look. Ëarendia, trying to right herself, did not notice this.  
  
"Could we be wrong?" Gimli asked, his eyes wide as he looked at Legolas.  
  
"If we are," Legolas said softly, "we shall be dealing with one very angry Elf."  
  
Gimli agreed, not looking as though he found the prospect particularly attractive.  
  
"Wh-wh-where did you come from?" Ëarendia gasped. She had never imagined that it would be possible to sneak up on someone through the underbrush clogging the path through the Forest. Legolas and Gimli, appearing so suddenly and soundlessly not ten steps away from her, had shocked her so badly that her heart was still in her throat.  
  
"From where we met you," Legolas said, without so much as a trace of humor. Truly, he was too busy trying to figure this stranger out to be able to see the humor in her question.  
  
Gimli had no such problems. His problem, in fact, was in trying to keep himself from laughing out loud at such a ridiculous question. But even as he struggled against laughter, he thought again that they might have been wrong about this strange Elf with the blond hair and silver eyes who had appeared as if out of nowhere. Perhaps she had been hurt, and that was why she did not seem to know who or where she was. He had seen such injuries in battle. Yet she was just too perfect, reminiscent in her own foreign way of both Galadriel and Arwen. Of course, she could never compare to either of them. That would, in Gimli's opinion, have been impossible. Yet she was good-looking enough to stand out in even a group of Elves. That, Gimli thought, was certainly noteworthy. He knew that Legolas had noticed; he knew his friend well enough after all this time to be fully aware of the reason behind Legolas' antipathy.  
  
"Why are you following me? You should be...doing whatever it is you were doing when I arrived," Ëarendia told them both, finally managing to get herself situated on the tree trunk again. "Clearly, you did not want to tell me the way to Gondor. I will manage to find my way."  
  
"You are headed in the wrong direction already," Legolas pointed out, refusing to call her by that ridiculous name.  
  
She looked taken aback, then embarrassed. "Well, I'm certain that I would have figured that out before long. At any rate, both of you are wasting time. Go ahead on your way. I'll be fine, even more so now that I know which direction to aim for."  
  
Legolas sighed. "You will be hopelessly lost before nightfall."  
  
Gimli nodded. "Come with us. You'll be safer that way, and we'll all get to Gondor much more quickly."  
  
Ëarendia, after some thought, sighed. From their expressions, 'no' was not an answer they were willing to consider. She stood up, managed to cross over the fallen tree trunk without too much loss of dignity, and silently followed them through the Forest.  
  
***  
  
Legolas and Gimli sat around the fire they had made with branches already fallen from the trees at the edge of Fangorn. They knew, from their first encounter with the Forest, that cutting any live branches would bring retribution neither was eager to incur. Had they been certain of the stranger, they might have encouraged her to gather some live branches, as it would have made their task simpler. Still, they had too much respect for the Forest and its denizens to treat even the most minor injury to one of Fangorn's trees so lightly.  
  
And, as Legolas had reminded Gimli earlier, all that gleamed in the moonlight was not silver.  
  
So they sat around the fire, and the still-unknown Elf slept off to the side, looking shivery and decidedly uncomfortable.  
  
"You should have given her your cloak," Gimli told his friend grumpily. "If she takes a chill and becomes ill, it will only delay us. And neither of us is particularly skilled in healing."  
  
"If she is truly an Elf, a few nights out in the open will not harm her. Much," Legolas said with a shrug that appeared more callous than it truly was. They discussed the stranger, both of them glancing over at her from time to time. Before a half-hour had passed, Legolas could no longer stand the sight of her shivering. He tossed his cloak over her and went back to the fire, clearly disgruntled.  
  
"It's only a cloak. You can take it back come morning," Gimli pointed out.  
  
"It isn't the cloak. It's her. Her appearance here makes no sense. Why come to Fangorn at all? Beautiful though it is, the Forest is still dark, and it is nothing like a safe place for anyone with such paltry woodland skills as she has.  
  
"Also, I can hardly believe in a coincidence so great that it had her appearing out of nowhere, right next to us. You know what that means, Gimli. What it's always meant."  
  
"You're right," Gimli acknowledged, feeding another dead branch to the flames. "Still, none of what we have seen thus far adds up. Beautiful, but not perfect. Awkward. Easily embarrassed. Walked away from us," he added, clearly finding this the strangest factor of all. "Away from us," he repeated, sounding rather disgusted.  
  
"It's the only reason she hasn't been taken care of already," Legolas pointed out. "The fact that it doesn't all add up. We did come prepared for all manner of evil."  
  
"We've got no choice, these days," Gimli replied with a frown. "The War is over and won, but there are still skirmishes to be fought."  
  
Legolas cast another dark glance over at the sleeping stranger. His silent agreement was answer enough. 


End file.
